


You Don't Know But That's Okay (You Might Find Me Anyway)

by openhearts



Category: Community
Genre: Episode: s02e12 Asian Population Studies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: A belated birthday present for the absolute BEST (just, BEST), dearygirl. And since this was written for her, and I am impatient to post it, it is unbeta'd. Title and cut text from Regina Spektor's "Raindrops."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearygirl/gifts).



He stays at Rich’s for about fifteen minutes before he can’t handle it anymore. He yanks his clothes from Rich’s drier and when he locks himself in the bathroom to change out of the fluffy white bathrobe (monogrammed, so you know this guy truly was birthed from a catalogue) his hands are shaking. It’s bizarre.

He ignores it.

He shoves past Rich and out the door with a carelessly muttered, “Gotta go.”

His clothes are still damp, heavy and clinging to him and it feels like he’s walking through a swimming pool of mud as he slogs down the stairs of Rich’s building. When he steps out onto the sidewalk and the rain falls over him again, it’s a relief. The splashes of his boots in sidewalk puddles are masked by the heavy rain. His fists are clenched at his sides and his head’s tilted down.

He tries to run through what he’ll say, tries to figure out what the hell he’s doing.

As it turns out it’s a very short walk.

_

 

He watches the peephole until a shadow flickers across it. A rush of nerves jolts through him. It feels like an eternity passes before the deadbolt slides, he hears the creak of the door opening wider, feels the soft rush of air from the movement, and then there she is.

“Shit,” he blurts out.

Annie cocks an eyebrow up and gives him a once-over. She leans her temple against the edge of the door.

“Jeff,” she says softly. It’s just his name, but it’s infused with the combination of pity, wonder, and affection only she can manage.

Jeff reaches out and braces a hand on the door frame. Her eyes flit briefly over to follow the movement before sliding back to his.

“I still don’t have any answers,” he sighs.

She nods, and her eyes slip down to focus on the floor. He follows suit, hanging his head low and leaning his weight against the doorframe. He watches droplets of water fall and disappear into the flower-printed welcome mat below his feet.

“But I think that- I know that . . . that-” His eyes are closed, his face screwed up in confusion as he tries to get the words out. His throat is closing up with the effort of it, even though he’s soaking wet he feels hot prickles all over his chest and the back of his neck. The walk here from Rich’s has done nothing to help him formulate his thoughts; his mind is blank save for the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

It’s ridiculous that he can’t find a way to phrase it, but maybe it’s because he’s been ignoring the running commentary his mind has going on her, the constant notice of details he shouldn’t be cataloguing if he’s going to remain neutral.

(Her hair looks a little bit curly on hot days. She has an unconscious tick – toying with her earlobe – when she’s stressed out about studying. He has never seen her wear jeans, ever.)

He shakes his head and glances at her before he leans in. He’s going to kiss her, to let her know what he means but can’t put into words.

She draws back, her fingertips drifting over his chest as he pauses and then backs away slightly. She fingers a button on his shirt. When she speaks, she doesn’t look at him.

“Say it.” Her voice is soft and hoarse.

“I . . .” Jeff sighs. He rolls his eyes. “I can’t.”

Annie glares up at him and pulls her hand away but he catches it in his and holds it. He trails his thumb back and forth over the backs of her fingers. “No, I mean, I _can’t_ . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m really bad at this.”

She snorts and pulls her hand from his grasp and folds her arms.

“I’m serious,” he says. He reaches out slowly and traces his fingertip along a strand of hair that has strayed from her ponytail to curve over her cheek. Annie leans slightly into his touch, as if in spite of herself, and he cups her jaw gently. His breath is coming thin and fast and his voice comes out weak when he repeats,

“I’m serious.”

She meets his eyes now and nods.

“Look,” he continues, “it’s never been the right time to even start to think about actually having a real relationship with you because every- god, everything with us happens at fucking _Greendale_ and everything about that place is _terrible_.”

He trails off there and leans his head against the door frame.

“Don’t expect me to wait until graduation-” she starts.

“I don’t. I don’t.” He sighs. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

Jeff’s fingers shift and slide up through her hair and he hooks one through the elastic holding up her loose ponytail and tugs it. She inhales through her teeth when he pulls too hard as her hair falls messily around her face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, and he rubs back and forth across the back of her neck with his thumb in quick soothing strokes. She closes her eyes, her brow still furrowed.

She’s so desperately frustrated and exhausted of him. She feels his attention whether she’s looking for it or not, heat and an abrupt sensation of falling even as she’s pinned in place by his stare. She wants to cry right now but she won’t let herself. She’s pushed so much with him by trotting out the fake tears and hysterics that this – the quiet and resigned tears that feel so cleansing until she _sees_ him – feels taboo.

His fingers tighten across the back of her neck with firm steady pressure that lights up nerves all over her skull and down her spine. She reaches up and wraps her fingers around his wrist and squeezes. She takes a deep breath and lets the tears recede before she looks up at him again. There’s a heavy dull ache behind her eyes and she feels like there’s a rock in her throat, but she hold his gaze steadily as she takes one step back and then another.

She pulls him with her through the door and he pushes it shut with one foot and leans back against it and pulls her toward him with a hand on her hip.

His feet are planted solidly on the floor, making murky wet prints on the linoleum, and when she falls forward into his embrace she’s surrounded by him and everything is the smell of rain filling her head and soaking into her clothes the tighter he holds her. She’d taken off her tights when she got home and replaced them with her fuzzy purple slippers, and now the seams of Jeff’s wet jeans scrape against the sides of her knees.

She reaches up and touches his face, smoothing her palm up his cheek and sliding her nails through his dripping hair and making it stand on end. She lets go of his wrist and fists her hands in his collar and brings him down to kiss her.

A rush of silent frantic energy overtakes them.

Suddenly her back is pressed against the refrigerator and she’s shoving Jeff’s shirt back over his shoulders as magnets drop to the floor and they peel the shirt the rest of the way down his arms to drop wetly to the floor at their feet and then her dry palms are dragging over his damp skin, skidding and sticking.

Jeff trips when they move again; one sleeve of his discarded shirt wraps itself around his ankle and then they are laughing deep wheezing belly laughs that are not at all sexy. He’s doubled over at the waist and Annie’s crumpled on the floor, both of them trying – “Move!” “Wait, wait, get your fingers-! Oh my god.” – to disentangle him.

Jeff does a kind of roll-sit move to mask an ungraceful collapse to the floor and yanks both of his boots entirely off. He leaves his socks even though they’re wet and gross. He sits with his feet on the floor and his legs bent, Annie with her ankles now neatly crossed sitting between his knees. She’s resting her hands on his shins as if she’s holding on or something and he cocks his head to one side and lets out another laugh.

It comes out quiet and low.

Annie sits still. He feels her fingertips through his jeans, tapping and trailing on his shins. She gets up, bracing her palms on his knees until she’s standing there in front of him and he’s tilting his head back to look up at her. He reaches out and touches her thigh, just lays his hand against her skin and curls his fingertips into her flesh just a bit. Her fingers trail over his knuckles and then he’s standing until he’s towering over her and chasing her lips and they’re moving again and not stumbling this time.

He rests his hands on the back of her sofa and leans over her, kissing her deeply, demanding and hard. She pulls away from his mouth and with her hands playing lightly at his sides, over and around his belt and the elastic of his briefs exposed above it, she nuzzles at the slope of muscle between his neck and shoulder. He bows his head and rests his forehead on her small shoulder, lets the warmth of her mouth on his skin mingle with the irritating cold running over the rest of his body from her drafty windows.

All that plays through his mind is ‘give me give me give me.’ Everywhere she touches him he’s asking her for it, begging her to keep understanding what he means to have said and who he means to have been.

_

 

He plants his forehead against the mattress next to her ear. His breath roars in her ear and his chest presses against hers as he takes in each heavy breath. Her legs are bent to cradle his hips and his weight is suddenly slung against her, still and overwhelming.

With the lack of motion a stiff ache blooms from her hips to her knees, slowly overtaking the aftershocks of her orgasm. She shifts and he rolls away onto his back beside her. Her head still rests on his forearm and his fingers twitch against her bare shoulder. She stretches her legs out - heat floods her joints but her naked skin prickles with goose bumps. She shivers and rolls over to face Jeff with her cheek on his shoulder, her arms folded up against his side, and their legs touching from thigh to shin. He flings his arm around her and his hand rests lazily on her hip

She glances up at his face. His eyes are closed, his mouth just slightly slack. His hair is a ridiculous mess and there’s a flush running over his cheeks beneath the shadow of stubble.

She won’t speak first.

_

 

It had been late when Jeff got to Annie's apartment, later when they fell asleep in her bed, and later still when Jeff wakes up suddenly and stares at his surroundings for several seconds before gaining his bearings. The light over her kitchen sink is on and feebly throwing a watery yellow light into his eyes. Jeff lets his vision adjust to the light for a few moments. He sees his shirt and boots strewn across her floor, shadowed with puddles of grungy rainwater.

Slowly, he lets his head fall back to the pillow. Annie’s soft breaths puff regularly against his arm.

_

 

She sits up, trying to be discreet about holding the sheets to cover herself in the mid-morning sunlight streaming in around the blinds on her window. She’s easing up from the bed when she hears him stir.

“Time is it?” he murmurs.

“Almost ten.”

He grunts a reply and then she feels his fingers close around her wrist. She looks at him over her shoulder and when he tugs lightly she lays back until her head rests on his stomach. She looks at the ceiling and frets over a water stain.

She lets the thought coalesce into a background hum as Jeff’s fingers run through her hair.

_


End file.
